Page 19 of The Duke of Swords (The Highwaymen #4)

“Oh, yes, the countess,” said the marchioness, laughing. “I met her when I went to visit my husband, mon chaton . I know who she is. I know she’s exactly the sort of drowned, wet rat that you’d like to dress up and pretend was a swan.”

“Rat and swan?” said Hyacinth. “Really?”

“You know what I mean,” said the marchioness.

“Let’s find somewhere to speak,” said Hyacinth. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room in her scarlet dress.

THE MARCHIONESS LIT a candle and set it on a low table. They were in a sitting room off the ballroom. The marchioness sat on a green settee alone. Hyacinth and Rae sat on a couch facing her.

“I can destroy her,” said the marchioness idly with an elegant shrug.

Rae swallowed hard. “You know, your husband and I, it wasn’t as if I wished—”

“I could not care less about that man,” said the marchioness.

“No, I’m quite grateful he’s finally dead.

If only the comte were still alive, everything would be perfect.

But instead, I am all alone at the end of my life.

The only compensation is that my husband did have that one house that he’d purchased.

Champeraigne would never let us buy anything.

He wanted to keep all our assets liquid in case we needed to bolt at any moment.

It’s what one learns when one is turned out of one’s home, after all. ”

“Is this going to be another story about how difficult the French Revolution was for you?” said Hyacinth, gazing at her fingernails, sounding bored.

“ Mon chaton, I know you are angry with me—”

“It is the other way around,” said Hyacinth. “You are angry with me, because I got your precious comte killed.”

“But after it was over, I told you I still loved you,” said the marchioness.

Hyacinth glared at her. “Yes, but you didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, I did not?” The marchioness folded her arms over her chest.

“What do you want? Why are you threatening poor Rae?”

“What do I want?” murmured the marchioness, her eyes bright.

Hyacinth groaned. “Why can’t you leave it be, then?

You know, in your way, you were always there for me, and that is what I am trying to create now for women in London.

A network of women to turn to, who help other women.

That is what you did for me. You gave me a false identity, after all.

I am only doing what you taught me to do.

Can you not simply allow Rae to have this new start? ”

The marchioness unfolded her arms from her chest. “Well, no one has found my late husband, have they?”

“Haven’t they?” said Hyacinth.

“No,” said the marchioness. “They have not. There is speculation he may be dead, but there is no confirmation, and the only person who knows where his body is seems not to wish to tell anyone its location.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine why that might be!”

“I can,” said the marchioness.

Hyacinth huffed.

“It must have been Rutchester. He was working quite closely with my late husband. He must have killed him.”

“Perhaps,” said Hyacinth.

“Fine, it doesn’t have to be him,” said the marchioness.

“If he wishes not to tie himself to the situation, fine. But your husband, then, could go and find the body and then I could have the will read. My husband had an estate that he’d purchased, but I can’t go there, because he told all his servants to bar the door to me. ”

“Well, you’re his wife,” said Hyacinth. “Fire all the servants and hire new ones.”

“I want access to everything that is mine as his widow,” said the marchioness. “To do that, I need to be a widow.”

Hyacinth groaned. “So, you wish me to throw Rutchester to the wolves for having killed your husband—”

“Oh, as if anyone will care,” said the marchioness, throwing up her hands. “Everyone knows Rutchester kills people.”

“They do not,” said Hyacinth witheringly.

“They do,” said the marchioness. “Did Fateux get in any trouble for killing my Champeraigne?”

“Well, both of them were French ex-patriots,” said Hyacinth. “So, maybe everyone thought it was none of the English’s business.”

“Then the marquis’s death will simply be the death of another bothersome French dog,” said the marchioness.

Hyacinth sighed.

“ Mon chaton , what are you wearing?” said the marchioness. “This red? It’s not in fashion. Light pastels are in fashion. You look like a harlot.”

“It matches Dunrose’s suit!”

“Yes, well, he looks like a dandy.”

“This is the way you go about attempting to convince me to help you?”

The marchioness sighed.

“I’ll speak to the dukes about finding Fateux’s body,” said Hyacinth. “All right?”

“No,” spoke up Rae.

“No?” said Hyacinth.

“No?” said the marchioness.

“No more from Rutchester for me,” said Rae. “He has done enough for me, and I shall not be further in his debt.” She was already too much for any man as it was, and now, to ask even more from him? No. She would not have it.

“Would he do it for you?” said the marchioness, eyebrows raised. “Oh. Is that why he killed him?” She started to laugh, and she laughed and laughed, her entire body shaking.

“Stop it,” said Hyacinth, glaring at the marchioness.

Rae got to her feet. “You can’t use my identity to blackmail me.

This has all gone far enough. I am no countess.

I do not belong here in this dress or in this ball.

I have never belonged here. I shall march right out there and announce to the world who I am and what befell me.

I shall tell them all that I am entirely ruined, completely ruined—”

“Don’t, for heaven’s sake, girl,” said the marchioness, getting to her feet as well. “I don’t wish you to destroy yourself.”

“No,” said Rae, shaking her head. “Not destroyed. It’s only I’ve been sitting around, waiting for someone else to rescue me. And all along, I’ve known what I needed to do.”

Escape.

Get up and walk out the front door.

No one would see her or stop her.

She was sure of it.